Filling the Emptiness
by Galad Estel
Summary: Book verse: Post Hobbit, Pre Fellowship. After returning to the Shire, Bilbo realizes that his home has not changed but he has. Frodo deals with the loss of his parents and is adopted by Bilbo.
1. Bilbo

_**AN: This was a story that came to my head when I was pulling an all nighter, writing a paper on Descartes for a Math Mayterm. Since, then, it was expanded a bit. This is all I have right now, but I might write another chapter. -Galad Estel**_

The hole in the hill seemed hollow. Though it was filled with his clothing, carpets, and furniture, it was strangely empty, even alien. Having grown accustomed to the pounding voices of Dwarves, Bilbo was struck by the silence. It haunted his bedroom, the cellars, the hall, the pantries, and especially the dining room.

"There should be singing here," Bilbo said to himself as he set his table for one.

Sometimes he would look out through his door with longing towards the mountains. He would fiddle with the gold ring he had found, pressing it between his palms, feeling its soft weight. He thought of Gollum, the near death he had had under those mountains. He told himself he should be happy, grateful to be alive. He was, but he wanted more.

He had taken to sitting long in the right side rooms, away from light of the left windows. It reminded him of the darkness of Dwarven Halls and kept him away from prying eyes. Bilbo had become a chief subject of conversation in the Shire. Once, he had been considered a respectable hobbit from a good family now he was called mad, cracked, and queer.

_Where had he been? Why hadn't he told anyone he was going?_ _Who were these strangers who came at all hours of the night? Where had his treasure come from? And how rich was he now?_

These questions passed from the lips of his neighbors as they passed by Bag End. Their bright eyes searched the Smial for its master, but Bilbo seldom withdrew from his house.

"Smaug must have felt this way," Bilbo thought. "Alone with only stolen gold to keep him company."

So, Bilbo decided to give it away. Those who were hungry or cold or needed a lift because they had had a hard year began to find envelopes filled with gold coins on their doorsteps in the morning. There was no word of explanation, just the words—_From a Friend—_in red letters on the envelopes.

This had led to great commotion in the Shire, as hobbits tried to guess whom the secret benefactor might be. Crowds started camping outside of the poorest holes to catch a glimpse of him, but it was Hamfast Gamgee, the Baggin's garden boy, who found him out. Bilbo made Hamfast promise not to tell, but Hamfast had a loose tongue, and the secret was soon circulating as far as Bree.

"He's trying to buy back his reputation," said the Sackville-Baggins.

Others took it in more kindly fashion. Those among the poorer classes looked on him as a sort of hero. Still, not many visitors stayed long at Bag End.

"It reeks of strangeness," said Aster Brown after taking tea with Bilbo one Sunday afternoon. "He has all these odd maps in the hall and half the things he says make no sense."

Occasionally, guests from other parts of the Middle-earth came over. Dwarves, mainly the remnant of the thirteen, would spend the night under his roof. They would talk about the adventures they had had together, exchange silent tears and cheery smiles. Balin came most often. He would inform Bilbo about what went on in the lands of Erebor and Laketown. Sometimes when the night was old, he would tell the histories of the Dwarves, the hardships that they had endured from the beginning and their reasons for enmity towards the Elves.

"They never gave us chance," Balin said, looking at the dying fire in the grate. "They loathed us even from the start."

Bilbo chose not to take sides on that debate. The King of Mirkwood had called him Elf-Friend and often in the twilight in the woods of the Shire, Bilbo would come across Elves and speak with them. Indeed it seemed that Bilbo was most at ease in the company of outsiders, and an outsider in the company of his own people.

"I feel out of place in the Shire," Bilbo complained to Gandalf, who was taking a rest in Hobbiton on his way south. "It just doesn't feel like home like it used to."

"And you want it to feel like home?" Gandalf said. They were sitting out in the garden in the noonday sun. It was April, and the lilies and daffodils were in bloom. Both had out there pipes and were smoking lazily.

"Why yes, why wouldn't I?" Bilbo said. He blew out a ring of smoke and watched it drift off towards the road.

"Well, it seems to me," said Gandalf, "that you rather enjoy feeling superior to your neighbors, knowing things that they probably don't even dream of."

Bilbo blushed. "I suppose I do allow myself that satisfaction sometimes, but it takes more than being smug to fill the emptiness. I've changed, Gandalf, and it's more than half your fault."

"I'm dreadfully sorry," Gandalf said. "Perhaps, on one of my long journeys through the wilderness I will come across something that can turn back time, and you can end your days a lonely, old bachelor with no adventure. Would that satisfy you?"

"How do you know I wouldn't have settled down, gotten married, had a family?"

"It wasn't your fate," Gandalf said. "Even before you went away, you were a bit of an oddity. Already fifty, not yet married, a wanderer within your borders. Something was bound to happen, and it did. So, don't go blaming me."

"All right, all right!" Bilbo said. "So, maybe I wouldn't have gotten married, but I did once have visitors, and as I recall I was rather fond of them."

"And so you would be still," Gandalf said with a laugh, "If you were still as shallow as you were pre-dragon. As you've said you've changed, but I believe it's been mostly for the better."

"Mostly?" Bilbo said. "So, you admit that there are some traits that your journey has given me that are not all together agreeable?"

"Your secrecy. I remember you as a very open hobbit. Now you're tighter with your secrets and more inclined to hide away."

"Yes," Bilbo said. "That might have something to do with the job you gave me, Burglar."

"But that job is over now."

"Well, what is it that you want to know?" Bilbo huffed. He got up and paced the garden walk.

"Are you intending to spend forever alone?" Gandalf said. He stooped and placed his pipe in his pack.

"Do I have a choice? It's not like anyone wants to live with me. Even the nieces and nephews who like me seldom come by. Their elders won't let them, not even the Tooks. I've out taken the Tooks, out bucked the Brandybucks."

Bilbo stared at the hillside and laughed. Gandalf reached out and touched his friend's arm.

"You're always welcome in Rivendell," Gandalf said. "Elrond will make sure of that."

"Thanks," Bilbo said. "But I'm not quite willing to give up on my fellow hobbits—yet."

Spring passed to summer, summer to fall, fall to winter. Bilbo ate, wandered, and wrote poetry, some of which he bound in volumes and even got published. As years passed, he grew fatter and more content. Sometimes his Brandybuck and Took cousins would venture over or would have the decency to invite him to their houses.

At one Brandy Hall party, Bilbo met Primula. She was helping host the party, as she was the daughter of Master of the Hall, Gorbadoc. Bilbo walked in, and she was the first thing he saw, a buxom, rosy-cheeked hobbit lass wearing a yellow frock and pouring mead. She noticed him staring and smiled.

"Would you like some?" she said, holding up a glass filled with glowing gold.

"Yes, thank you," Bilbo mumbled. He took it, and she poured another glass for herself. The Hall was crowded, but at the moment, only a half dozen were at the tables looking for food. Most everyone was dancing. Music streamed from bells, pipes, and flutes, and a fast chant had broken out among the youngsters in the back. Skirts and hair flew.

"It's a shame you're stuck here," Bilbo told Primula, waving at the tables. "You should be out there enjoying yourself."

"It's a little too loud for me," Primula said.

"Is it?"

She nodded and laughingly placed her hands over her ears. "My cousins can make so much noise."

"I enjoy smaller parties myself," Bilbo said.

"More quiet," Primula said with a nod.

"And less likely to get trampled," Bilbo said, as two big boned boys squeezed past him to get to the well-stocked table.

"I can't see you getting trampled. Not if half the stories I've heard of you are true."

"Then they are decidedly not."

"So, you didn't kill a dragon all by yourself?" Primula said, taking a sip of her mead.

"No, I most definitely didn't," Bilbo said. "I only told the man how to kill it, that's all. Well, actually I told a thrush to tell a man how to kill the dragon. No, I told the Dwarves but the bird overheard. It's complicated."

"I see," she said, "and you did not fight off a family of giant spiders?"

"Well, actually I did do that," Bilbo said. "But I had some help."

He stroked the ring in his pocket and smiled.

Primula shifted from foot to foot and looked across the crowded room at her father, who was busy in conversation with his son, Rory.

"Do you want to talk outside?" she said turning back to Bilbo. She reached for her shawl. It was autumn.

They walked out together. Bilbo sucked in his breath not knowing what to say. Primula looked twice as pretty out of doors, the sunlight turning her reddish brown hair to copper.

"The sky is so blue," Primula said.

Bilbo nodded and kicked absently at a patch of grass.

"I wish I had a dress that color," Primula said.

"I've seen a dress that color," Bilbo said. "In Rivendell, an Elf maid wore one."

"Elves, giant spiders, and dragons. I really don't know if I should believe you." She leaned back against an apple tree, her skirt flapping lightly in the breeze.

"You can choose not to if you want, but its all true."

"What else have you seen?" she said, reaching up for a branch over her head.

"Trolls for one and goblins," Bilbo said. "A whole bunch of unpleasant things."

"Tell me more," she begged.

"What do you want to know?" he said.

She seized an apple from the tree and tossed it to him. "Everything!"

So began a friendship that bordered on courtship. Bilbo told Primula a first hand account of all his adventures he had had with the Dwarves, about the trolls, elves, goblins, and men, of his plans, escapades, and treasures, the only thing he left out was the ring. Something always warned to keep his mouth shut about that.

Primula told him tales of the Shire and the Old Forest. She had learned many of them from her cantankerous great aunt who lived quite near the Shire's northern border. Some of the stories Bilbo had heard before, but others that spoke of spooks in the Forest made his heart shiver.

Their relationship was based on more than storytelling though. Primula provided Bilbo with a feeling of home that he had not felt since his journey. In her presence, he felt truly happy, and Primula was always glad to see him. Her father however was not pleased with the attachment between them. He could not see why his beautiful, young daughter should be seen so often with a madman thirty years her senior. He did not interfere though, and in the end, it was Bilbo who broke up with her.

"You deserve better than a restless heart," Bilbo told Primula one bright June day. "It's warm and I will wander."

"Let me walk with you," she said.

So, they walked together over the rolling hills and through the woods of the Shire, but Bilbo seldom spoke and his eyes roved ever towards the Misty Mountains. He had grown used to walking alone and did not know how to entertain. Neither did he want to. He had grown selfish he realized, only wanting company when it suited his needs.

Afterwards, Bilbo took to avoiding Primula and hobbits in general, shutting himself away with his books. When visitors came, he spoke nonsense until they left. Primula moved on, but not entirely. She married a Baggins, one twelve years older, Drogo son of Fosco. Her wedding gown was the color of a September sky.

When Bilbo heard of their deaths he grieved silently and went back to writing poetry, most of which he burned later because he believed it to be badly written. It was not until years later that he would discover a kindred spirit in Primula's orphaned son.


	2. Frodo

**AN: I said there might be another chapter. Well, it has arrived. And a dastardly thing it is too. Now I don't know if I should write a third about Sam or just leave it as it is, but anway enjoy. -Galad Estel**

The Brandywine sped by. Frodo wondered how long he had been watching it. The river foamed and cackled, flooding its banks, taking in more May rain.

"You've taken everything," Frodo told the brown water. "You didn't have to. I loved them more than you ever could."

The river just gurgled childishly and spluttered on.

"You're so free, so careless," Frodo said. He cupped water in his hands. It seeped through his fingers, slid off the sides of his palms. "Like them, I guess. I should have known I couldn't keep them. It's been nine years. I can hardly remember their faces. I see them on the wall, but that's not the same. They're not in my mind."

Birds cried in the trees, and the rain sang low. The river laughed.

"I suppose I shouldn't miss them. I have aunts and uncles and cousins to talk to, but I can't help but feel alone. Deeply alone, like no one will ever truly know me. When people ask me how I am I say I'm well, but that's half the story, isn't it? Imagine if someone where to come down here and see me talking to you. They'd think I was mad.

Am I?"

The river shrugged its way over a small waterfall, hopping on stones.

"It doesn't matter anyhow," Frodo said. "I mean I don't know if I would have been happy even if they had lived. Oh, that seems a horrible thing to say, but it's a small consolation. They were always arguing. You should have heard them in the night, flinging insults back in forth, especially when the beer started flowing. Some people say they killed each other. I don't believe that. They would never. But how they fought, until the day they both sunk down under you, united only in death."

He threw two rocks into the river, watched them sink. For a moment, a bubbly patch played on the surface but soon it was the same as the rest of the current.

"I wonder," Frodo said. "If there is anything after death. Maybe just emptiness, like the gaps the dead leave in the hearts of the survivors. But then again maybe they do live somewhere else now. Maybe my mother and father can see me from there. I wonder if they want me to be happy."

The Brandywine chattered on downstream, but Frodo could not make sense of the river talk. He stood up.

"I should go," he said. "I may be missed me. I think I'm suppose to help with dinner tonight."

Frodo picked up the book he had stolen from his grandfather's library. It was a rare account of the Battle of Greenfields, bound in green leather with gold lettering. He had taken it without permission in the hopes he would be caught. A rash, stupid decision but most of his decisions were rash and stupid. It kept him in trouble and out of thinking too much.

He trudged along a woodland path back towards Brandy Hall. He was trying to remember a song his father used to sing to him, but he only recalled snatches of the melody and none of the words. Glancing back towards the roaring Brandywine, Frodo spotted an older hobbit walking the same path quite a bit behind him. He was moving rather sluggishly, probably had a lot on his mind. This looked the perfect opportunity for a bit of mischief. Frodo scrambled behind a hedge on the path's left side and waited.

It took a while, but the other hobbit was finally on the path in front of him. Frodo sprang out on him.

"For Buckland and Old Bullroarer!" he cried, charging at the stranger with a stick.

The other hobbit jumped and suddenly vanished. He did not run away or hide. He just plain disappeared. For a moment, Frodo stood dumbfounded. Then he started grabbing the air around him. His fingers caught on something, a coat. He pulled at it. A body hit his chest. He screamed and tripped. They tumbled down together.

The other hobbit reappeared, scowling.

"What do you think you're doing, you young rascal?" he said. "Jumping on strangers like that. You gave me quite the scare."

"So did you," Frodo said. "How did you do that?"

"What?"

"That vanishing act," Frodo said.

"An old routine of self defence. I learned it abroad. Usually works with scamps like you." The stranger said, standing up and glaring down at the mud on his trousers.

"Oh!" Frodo exclaimed. "I know who you are! You're Mad Baggins."

"You're the mad one. Threatening people with sticks." He was counting the gold buttons on his red waistcoat, making sure they were all still there.

"I'm sorry," Frodo said. "It was just for fun. I wouldn't have hurt you. But you're Bilbo Baggins, right?"

"That depends on if my answering 'yes' will lead to string of ridiculous questions."

"I've heard so much about you," Frodo said.

"So has half the Shire," Bilbo said. "Doesn't mean I want to talk to them."

"I understand," Frodo said. He picked up Bilbo's walking stick and handed it to him.

Bilbo seized it. "No, you don't. You're just a foolish lad who wants to poke fun at poor, friendless, old Mad Baggins."

"That's not fair," Frodo countered. "I didn't know who you were before I attacked you."

"So you're a terror to everyone," Bilbo said. "Doesn't make you any better. Where are your parents? I'd like to have a talk with them. Tell them to keep a closer eye on you."

"Oh," Frodo said. "I haven't got parents."

"What? You just sprang out of the ground like a mushroom?"

"No, I had parents, but I lost them."

"Well, that was mighty careless of you," Bilbo mumbled. He was trying to scrub the mud off his trousers with a pocket-handkerchief.

"They died," Frodo snapped.

Bilbo stared at him. Frodo flinched, dropping his gaze to ground.

"I'm sorry," Frodo said. "I shouldn't have raised my voice."

"No," Bilbo said. "I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking. Well, I was, but not about you. I am, well, I'm not much good with people."

"That's all right," Frodo said. "I'm sorry for attacking you."

He turned to walk away.

"Wait," Bilbo said. "Where are you going?"

"Brandy Hall," Frodo said turning back.

"I'm going that way myself," Bilbo said. "If you want we could walk together."

"It's all right with me," Frodo said, nervously.

"Oh, don't worry," Bilbo said. "I'm not going to tell on you. I did enough mischief myself. How old are you, lad?"

"I'll be twenty-one, come September," Frodo said. He was kicking a pebble as he walked.

"September? You have a birthday in September too? What day?"

"Twenty-second," Frodo said.

"My goodness."

"What?"

"It's the same date as mine."

"What a coincidence!"

"I was once told by an old and wise friend," Bilbo said, "that there are no real

coincidences. It's the Powers pushing us in the right direction."

Frodo stopped suddenly. "I have to go back."

"What? Forgot something?"

"My book. Well, not actually my book. My grandfather's, I stole it."

"A thief too?" Bilbo shook his head. "My, you are a trouble maker. You should come live with me."

"Why?"

"Because your kin are obviously not keeping a close enough eye on you," Bilbo said. "Besides we could celebrate our birthdays together that way."

Frodo looked him in the eye. "You're serious."

"Yes," Bilbo said. "Yes, I am."

"But why? Why would you want me?"

"Because I'm lonely," Bilbo said. "I live in this great big hill all by myself, and I have no one to talk to, no one to share anything with. I mean there is old Gaffer Gamgee, but he's completely daft. And there's his sons and his daughters, but they haven't anything really interesting to say all put together. And I know, I know, I'm a horrible, selfish, judgemental man, but I like you."

Frodo felt his heart skip. It had been a long time since anyone said they liked him. Of course, his relatives were obliged to act like they treasured his presence, but often he felt such a burden. They saw him as a perpetual troublemaker, a bad influence on their impressionable children.

"I can see you're thinking too much to say anything," Bilbo said, "So, go back and get the book. I'll wait here for your answer."

Frodo dashed back to the bushes and grabbed the book. He felt his heart beating fast. This Bilbo Baggins seemed a most impulsive man. He might change his mind before Frodo had time to get back. Frodo wondered what it would be like to live with such a strange fellow. Perhaps, it would not be such a good idea to take up his offer, but he had a deep-seated feeling that they belonged together somehow, and by the time, he had walked back to Bilbo Baggins, he had made up his mind.

"Yes," Frodo said.

"What?" Bilbo said, coming out of a daydream.

"I'll come live with you."

Bilbo smiled and nodded, looked down at the book. "You never told you were interested in history."

"Well," Frodo said. "You just met me."

"Yes," Bilbo said. "I guess I did, though it doesn't feel that way. It seems like I've been waiting for you forever."

The adoption took a while. At first, the Brandybucks were unwilling to send Frodo off to live with their queer relation, even if the lad did seem anxious to go. They were won over however by some of Bilbo's charm and a bit of his gold and the promise that Frodo would be made heir to Bag End. They could not deny Frodo a wealthy legacy.

So, Frodo came to live in Hobbiton. It took him a while to adjust to the other hobbit's way of life. Yes, Bilbo did have his meals at nearly regular hours (he missed some when he wandered) but his habits were odd. He would get up at night to write or talk to himself or host midnight parties for loud-mouthed Dwarves. Sometimes sleep was impossible. Still, Frodo found the change exciting, and though Bilbo was sometimes quiet and distant, Frodo did not take it personally. He knew there must something else bothering his friend.

One day, when Bilbo was especially silent and gloomy, Frodo decided to ask about it.

"Dear Bilbo," Frodo said. "What is the matter?"

Bilbo lifted his head from his hands. He had been sitting slumped in his old rocking chair for nearly an hour. Now he stood up. He patted Frodo's arm absently and walked towards the door.

"Where are you going?" Frodo asked.

"Checking the post," Bilbo mumbled.

"Why won't you tell me what's wrong? I could help."

"I doubt it," Bilbo said. He had stopped walking though.

"I could try," Frodo persisted. "After all you have done for me, talking me in, the kindness you've shown me, I want to do something in exchange."

"You can't barter love, Frodo," Bilbo said. "My problems aren't meant for one as young and fresh as you."

"I want to help you," Frodo said. "I don't want to be shut out."

Bilbo opened the door and walked out. It was August, and the air was stifling. He took the letters in and spread them across the kitchen table, a party invitation, a note for an auction, a letter from a distant relation asking for money.

"I've had losses too, Frodo."

Frodo waited.

"People I once knew are now gone. We all loose our parents at some point, or they us. I've had other losses too, friends, allies. Some of the sadder ones are the lost possibilities. People can be so cruel to each other."

"I don't know who you're talking about," Frodo said. He was thinking about his parents.

"Thorin Oakenshield," said Bilbo. He saw the blank look on Frodo's face and explained. "Thorin was the leader of our company in our quest to retake the Lonely Mountain. He was a brave Dwarf, though a stubborn one. There were harsh words said between us but friendship in the end. I wish we had had more time."

"He died?"

"Yes, he was slain at the Battle of the Five armies. You can read about it in my book, once I've got it finished."

"I'm sorry about your friend," Frodo said.

"Yes, well, death isn't picky, plucks out good or bad. I don't think I've ever mentioned this but I knew your mother."

"You did?"

"Yes," Bilbo said, stacking the letters and shoving them in the cook stove. "For a little while. She was a lovely person."

"I'm glad you thought so," Frodo said.

"Anyone would, anyone with sense."

Frodo gave him a half smile. He did not ask Bilbo if he had known his father.

The years flew by. Frodo came through adolescence unscathed though quite a bit wiser. Bilbo told him plenty about the outside world, and Frodo had met Dwarves and Elves in Bilbo's company. Generally, Frodo found that Dwarves were polite (except when drunk) and that Elves teased too much (except those who were very grave). Frodo was drifting closer to outsiders now and further away from his own people.

He hated how his fellow hobbits looked down on Bilbo and made him some sort of a joke.

They did not even try to understand him. They just thought him strange and let it be. The

ones who were friendly with him were usually after his wealth. Even some of the rude

ones were (like the notorious Sackville-Baggins), and Frodo found himself time and

again defending Bilbo's honour. Until the day, Bilbo ordered him to stop.

"You can't change a person's opinion by shouting at them, my dear," Bilbo said.

It was not just Bilbo's reputation that was suffering however. Frodo had become

notorious by association. Of course, all of Bilbo's closest relations loathed Frodo because he was now heir and would get Bag End, but even among the larger circle of hobbits, many an eye was poised to search out strangeness in the Bag End lad who would soon come of age. Mothers wondered if the wealth was worth sending a daughter at him. His reputation was so constantly in question.

Then finally the day arrived, Frodo's coming of age party and Bilbo's one hundred and eleventh birthday. It was quite the spectacle, all the food and fireworks, but Bilbo's sudden disappearance at the end blew every other thrill out of his guests' minds.

Of course, by then, Frodo knew about the Ring. Bilbo had told him about it one wintry afternoon when they had run out of things to talk about. Frodo had brought up their first meeting, but instead at laughing as Frodo described how terrified he had been at Bilbo's sudden invisibility, Bilbo had become queerly quiet and asked him if he still wanted to know how he had done it.

"Of course," Frodo said.

So, Bilbo brought out the Ring and told him how he had won it fairly in a game of riddles, and Frodo had believed him and thought the Ring great fun and that was that, but Frodo did not laugh when Bilbo pulled the trick at the party or afterwards when he had settled the guests' nerves and gone back to find Bag End empty. When everyone had left, he cried.


End file.
